


The Definition Excerpt

by MiscWorker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Dark Comedy, Drama, Religion, Science Fiction, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 13:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiscWorker/pseuds/MiscWorker
Summary: The Definition is a fictional biography of the life of Michael Reeves, a man who is in a desperate search for a lost lover and the man who has held his life in the shadows, only to find himself in a seemingly eternal hunt for everything good in life.This is an excerpt of an unfinished work of mine. I would love feedback to tell me if I'm in the right direction with this or if the story isn't right. This is very important to me, but go all out on any criticism. Tell me if it's the worst thing ever if you truly believe and can reason so. Needless to say, please don't steal any of this content either.





	The Definition Excerpt

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read the summary if you haven't.

I have sat with myself in the quarters of my mind to ask myself if the world I live in is really as I perceive it. And then, with that, I wonder: Where in the ends and corners of reality is proof that I am not its god, its bound manipulator whose potential just endlessly grows? Who is to say the center of not just every universe, but of reality isn’t me? Only logic is to say, but what is deemed logical is so various, I might as well say up is down and call it a day.  
And that question had bothered me. It confused me, because often I truly do believe that the lives of every person revolves around me. It is easy to say it is all a combination of psychological misunderstanding and placebo effects, such and such, but in my own mind, it all just seems so wrong. I disagree with them!.. But I don’t know the truth…  
The appreciation of God comes with faith and logic, at least for me, but what does one do when their logic overtakes their faith? When so many things don’t make sense while other things do, so it divides you like you have been cut in half and turned into a two sided freak!..  
Then the answer came to me, as visible as light from the sun: I cared too much. It is what ultimately stresses all humans… Caring because our souls are bright with humanity, fueling us the need to consider others.  
It is a curse as much as it is a blessing. I pray that only I perceive the world in this way- or, if it is not as such, I hope instead this reality is only for me and no other human.

1.  
My memory has been returning to me since the day I woke up on a train, like a sun steadily rising over the horizon but so slowly that it tortured me as I continued to freeze in the shadows. The walls of the cell that trapped me extended over time as I saw more of my past unravel, but the door that let me out never unlocked. Since the beginning of that journey of recollection, I have had to learn of reality from scratch.  
On the train, I sat next to a man who looked to be two decades my senior, though he had aged quite well- why I would immediately notice that of all things was a mystery to me for a long time, but it was something that was at first charming then unsettling. I did not recognize him, but he acted to surely know me. I could speak, think, wonder… I could recognize that this was, in fact, a train we sat in, but I had no explanation as to how I would have known anything I did know. It was worse than any sort of amnesia: it was a trauma of forced supression of a past life, but why would I have to suppress everything I have remembered?  
The man sparked my recollection, as suddenly he was familiar to me, only slightly, or at least reminded me of something from my life. He put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was fine, and all I did was stare.  
Then he said my name: “Reeves… Reeves, say something.”  
“What?..” I took my own voice in shock for a moment, then said, “I think I’m fine. I can’t remember… Sir, who are you?”  
His countenance was awkward at first, but then he looked upon me peacefully, “Vetrov, of course. What do you not remember?”  
“... Everything? What am I even speaking? I can feel the words coming off my tongue and understand what they mean, but what is this language?”  
“You suddenly remember not a thing? Not even your name?” he asked.  
“Is it Reeves? Is that a surname, or is it something else? Are- are we friends? Sir, please-”  
“Calm down, calm down,” he took me close and held me, “You are Michael Reeves, remember? If there is nothing of your life you can recall, do not fret over it. You are young- look on to the future. In fact, if this is what must happen, it is for the best. There are things that are better for you to forget.”  
“I cannot live on like that,” I mumbled, discomforted by the caressing of my hair from his liquid hands, “Who are you to me? Are you a friend? A father?”  
“I am of no blood relation, but I am your best friend. To say fairly, you are my best friend- you surely see me as nothing but a stranger now.”  
“Right. How do I know I can trust you?”  
He laughed, his expression of amusement having little to no character at all, lacking in natural variation the way his voice did. It was so close to perfection, yet far from it. My vision focused onto him in a way that his presence demanded it, with all other things losing focus- it all appeared natural at first, but then I felt to have all of my essence poured into him until I would speak again.  
The man, Vetrov: I inevitably discovered that our appearances were of similar traits when I turned and looked at my reflection in the window. We were both blonde, our hair intensely shaped; white males with a wonderful happiness even when expressing nothing. While those things could be said about both of us, I found that he did not look individual but as an attempted replication of me, or perhaps a blurred reflection to my own appearance. While my hair was intense, it was subtle and relaxed, while his was forged unproudly by a smith of less care. His innate happiness was something to take with a grain of salt.  
And this man was my best friend, but is he to be? My trust was of limit, but how fair could I be? I could only imagine how painful it would be for a best friend you love to turn against you within a minute of confusion. I accepted his affection for the friend he intended to be, and he took me under his wing as gladly as any parent would do for their child.  
His procedure of care for me was simple: to ensure my future was the best it could possibly be. He told me we came from another universe, one of no name, which at first seemed impossible and contrasted my knowledge of only a single universe existing, but it was quickly proved that there were an incredible amount of universes, all full of people just like me who lived in societies of many sorts. I questioned why I would think of such a reality to contradict my prior knowledge, and he described it to be as something that “contradicted everyone’s sense of reality”. If such a statement was intended to make me feel relatable on the subject, then it would have failed, for it made me worry to myself even more.  
But there was light in that worry- both the fascination and fear that I had for many things I was either learning anew or relearning, I could sense they were linked to who I was and were not just a natural reaction any person would have. To know that I was a person who was individual and different in fair respects comforted me; as long as I could comfort myself with my own thoughts, I believed I would be just fine.  
Vetrov made quite the effort to comfort me himself though, but it was presented in a rather condescending manner, leading me to wonder why I was ever friends with such a person. Perhaps I was different previously and thought similarly to him, or maybe I was naive before and never noticed his rudeness. He was not particularly cruel, but his presence did not grow onto me well, even if he was giving me so much.  
He gave me everything that it took to shape me into a well educated man, which allowed me to discover my intelligence; not knowing how I truly was as a person, whether it was wits or heart, made life feel that I was controlling another man entirely, and I was trying to learn who they are and how they think. I was glad to find that I was a fast learner, making my twelve year endeavour in advanced education easy for the most part. I found that I had an enjoyable taste in astronomy, the study of the flat, matterless stars above, but Vetrov warned me that my years should not be put to waste by learning a subject of no practical value, so I took his word to heart and chose to go into electric engineering, specifically to enter the multiversal transportation field.  
Now, I thought about that common belief very often over the years: astronomy is a subject of no practical value, for stars have no physical content and are unreachable or impossible to examine differently than what they appear as we see them. I hated this for being a fact, because, deep down, it was false to me. I was so intrigued by the stars that I studied it in my own time while I took my courses for multiversal transportation. There was something beautiful about them, and I believed there were more than stars beyond us- perhaps every universe was a star in the sky? Who knows?.. Hopefully one day, I would.  
Once I finished my courses and earned the highest standard of recognition in education, I became a professor at a university, not because I wanted to be a teacher but because I didn’t exactly know what else I should do. Vetrov said it was a good experience to have, but I had imagined I would enter the research field for technology rather than teach the subject. It was then I was skeptical of having Vetrov more or less control my actions, but it was not that which lead to me beginning to argue with him, but something else.  
One night, I dreamt of a woman: her name was Sarah, and she was an artist of many things, though she was admittedly an amateur. She was bright like the sun and had a familiar accent, one that was almost like mine before it was reformed by my environment. Suddenly, I realized it was no dream, but a lost memory that had surfaced in my mind, and I awoke with a start like it was a nightmare.  
Vetrov and I lived together in a flat of a busy city where the university I attended was. In the morning, I asked him if there was ever a woman named Sarah in my life.  
“Sarah…” He thought to himself, drinking his coffee slowly. He used to never drink coffee, but after a few years he began a habit of it. Now he has almost ten cups a day; I don’t know how he is still alive.  
“She had brown hair that might have been curly, and she painted these abstract pieces-”  
“I don’t know a Sarah,” he said, interrupting me as usual, “A Sarah that you would have been acquainted with, at least. It sounds like a strange dream.”  
And it was left at that as he walked away with a second cup of coffee. Over a year later, when I had just completed my schooling, the same “dream,” as he called it, returned, and I could hear her voice.  
“We discussed the work for a class we shared,” I explained to Vetrov, “It was calculus, and she was a lot better at it than I am, which would make some sense, as mathematics was my worst subject. But she-”  
Vetrov put his hand up, and I stopped myself politely. “Reeves, I believe you are simply lonely.”  
“Well, if I am, is it not justified? Over a decade of school, and you’ve made yourself the center of my life, so of course I am going to get lonely!”  
“Are you complaining? I have given you everything you need to succeed- what is a decade’s time in a life of over a century? Don’t speak of justification with me, Reeves.”  
I would apologize after that, and it would make me shameful to act as such. But, after a few years, I began to think that there was no shame to be had for my attitude towards him, because he certainly was controlling and patronizing with his words. What confused me of it was that he never spoke to other people as rudely as he did to me, not that he showed much politeness anyway, so I took it as that he was harsh on me because he cared.  
Of course, such an attitude begins to turn irritating eventually, and such was the case with him. It was more of that he treated me as if I could not handle life alone, despite the fact that the first twelve years of my conscious life- that being, the life I can clearly remember and nothing before my “awakening”- was nothing but education of everything that was necessary to manage myself. If it was not knowledge of mine he was denying, it was my maturity, and that is even less justifiable, for I knew from the beginning that I was mature in some sense, unless there are just unsaid standards I have never learned.  
Despite his words, I stopped seeing the thoughts I had as dreams completely; they were clearly memories, and I believed that my memory was slowly recovering from whatever it was I suffered from. With those memories, a lot of things began to fall apart in terms of logic.  
One day, I got into an argument with Vetrov because of his authoritarian issues, and I questioned him, “Tell me this, if you care about me so much to call yourself a parent: Why is it that when we first came on the train here to Truma County and I told you I could not remember a thing- not my name, not you, not even what the language we were speaking was… You passed it by as something that was for the best, as if it was normal! Never went to a doctor for that issue, never tried to reason with me about it… You just act like it was supposed to happen. Vetrov, why?”  
“I have told you several times,” he said, “With the effects of multiversal travel, things like that are bound to happen-”  
“No, no… You’re right, you have said that many times, too many times. It was not that, I went out of my way to research it myself, and I have told you this too many times as well: it’s a myth!”  
“Well, bloody, what do you want to hear, Reeves?”  
“I want to know what my life was!”  
His countenance stiffened, as if I had never asked him of the subject before. Never have I, admittedly, demanded to know, for I trusted him that it was best for me to move on. He was and still is correct of that belief, but I felt that something was being kept from me.  
“Look at yourself-”  
“What?!” I interrupted him in an overreaction, “Do you ever say anything different?! Is there no fault on your part ever?! Why can’t you just admit you are wrong, or perhaps unjust?! All it ever has been with you to me is that I’m ‘sinful,’ ‘selfish,’ ‘not being persistent enough,’ ‘careless’... Would it hurt me that bad to just tell me simple things, such as where I was born, where I grew up… My parents, Vetrov, my parents! Where are they?!”  
He said nothing, sitting in his seat with a blank face except for the anger filling his eyes as he avoided eye contact with me. He stood up, firmly setting his feet straight with his body, and said in a forced, calm voice, “Michael, collect your things and leave. Clearly you can manage yourself, and I have been holding you back.”  
I stared in disbelief, more on the part that I never would expect him to give me up so easily and that he used my forename, something that was very rare of him, and I said, “Vetrov, you’ve given me so much, but none of it has come with heart. I’m asking for nothing but information that should be nothing but trifling to you.”  
“I have nothing more to give you,” he said, “Leave. Take what you can.”  
“No, please just listen-”  
He approached me in heavy steps, violently shaking the floor, and I almost tripped as I walked back against the wall. He said once more and lastly before I prepared to leave, “Leave, Michael.” I gathered all of my possessions I could carry and he closed the door on my way out, without a single goodbye or even glance at me before shutting it.  
I thought to myself: Now what? I did still have my job as a professor and I had my own sum of money, so it was not as if I was a child thrown out into the streets by their parents. Yet, that’s how I felt it was. I didn’t really want to be a professor of anything, even if it was something I was passionate of, like astronomy or even philosophy, which I had grown to appreciate over the years and was much more intrigued by it than any technology engineering.  
More than anything, though, I was interested in the memories that flooded back to my mind over the years: the woman Sarah, who I last remember being twenty two. Everything about her was charming in ways that were both perfect and flawed. Of all the memories I had of her, nothing proved that we were ever lovers, yet I knew that we had a connection as strong as that. I was determined to find her, or at least uncover the mystery that she was in my life. Never did I ever try to research the clues I had from the thoughts because I took Vetrov’s warning to heart too much- the past might be better to put behind me, but they still form your future.  
Quickly though, I came to a halt. I returned to my classroom at the university I worked to research those clues, but I could not find a single reference to any place that was mentioned in my memories. I looked in the Departments of Multiversal Order’s latest issue of registered territories, and nothing of those names existed. The directory was outdated by only a year, and I doubt there would be any sense in the place I’m looking for coming into existence less than a year ago.  
With those facts settled, the rabbit hole was uncovered and I knew I had been lied to by Vetrov in some way. Even in the chance that those memories were reoccurring dreams of many sorts, I had doubt that Vetrov was truly honest to me. He had forgotten I had a key to the flat myself, so I returned there to interrogate yet again. The flat was completely empty though, vacant of any contents at all. It looked as if nobody had ever lived there- the floorboards were torn up, the walls were now painted white, even the bathroom’s necessities had been removed, without a single trace of me or Vetrov ever having been there. The landlord told me he wasn’t allowed to reveal any information to me of Vetrov’s leaving because he requested of such, but now I knew Vetrov had gone elsewhere, perhaps to abandon my life entirely.  
It was instances such as this that always made me view him to be a secretive man, perhaps even more than human; he never told me where his wealth came from. He just claimed to be “rich” and that was it, so money was never an issue with us. While he was neutrally void of any emotion towards anyone else but me, he somehow always had connections with people that were able to help us, but if he didn’t, he always managed to get what he wanted. Most noticeably of them all, his aging was bizarre: he claimed to be fifteen years my senior, making him fifty one at this time, but he never exactly appeared older than me- nor younger, for that matter. Some days he had wrinkles, other days his skin was perfect. It confused me so much, and, as with anything else, he always had some reason that seems logical at first but then ridiculous after a while.  
All that aside, as much as I had grown to dislike him for the inconsistency of his character that simply got on my nerves and the condescending attitude he portrayed, he was the only person I believe could have the information I was looking for, if I wouldn’t find Sarah first, that is. The memories were still returning every night, so more clues could be revealed and I just might be able to solve this mystery of a lost life I led.  
2.  
My life as a traveler began, and it was the life that I should have begun anew from the start of my awakening, rather than the boring, enclosing life that was of repetitive education to only teach it all again. I was already relentless to journey through any universe I had to cross through, but it was a matter of retaining that opportunity. I only had so much in my savings, and it wouldn’t last me for as long as I’d need it to- months, years, I assumed it would be decades before I was satisfied with my search.  
It was suddenly obvious to me what I could do, and I was perfect for the position: an analyst for the D.M.O. The Departments of Multiversal Order had a presence in every single universe that was registered for it, and I’ve always seen in the news the constant demand for traveling analysts who go across universes to collect data and information for all sorts of reasons. It was a job that paid as well as you worked, with the benefit of providing the traveler with a personal multiversal transportation device and paying for all their expenses as they move from one place to the next. I quickly applied and was easily granted the position, thanks to my education and the familiarity I had with transportation devices. I had one set motion and rule to live by: work hard, then harder, and there will be rewards.  
And after two weeks into the career, I realized something: I loved the work, but it was very much exhausting and I did not have the energy to work as hard as I thought I could. It was the first crisis I had in my life, during those first few years, where my thoughts of ambitiousness were punished and reality became more apparent in my eyes. Having been under the wings of Vetrov for so long made me dependent on him, and to live and travel alone was not necessarily difficult, but it was foreign to me in every aspect. I had even used him as a headrest for so many rides to places when I slept that now I felt lonesome when all that met me was emptiness or a cold window.  
In the lighter side of my love for the job, it was a pleasure to finally leave that boring flat and escape the chains of education I wrapped around myself- goodness, I never wanted to step foot into a school again. I was grateful for the knowledge I gained, of course, but to sit for twelve years as a runt among others to only become the teacher for the next set of runts felt as stupid as shooting oneself in the head and expecting to live, at least for someone such as I who felt obligated to do as such because I had someone hovering over me…  
There was a power that came from the work I had- anyone who worked for the Departments had a strange authority that went by without mention, as if I was a law enforcer, but the Departments seemed to assert themselves as if they were the real authority of many universes. To an extent, they were, justifiably at least, for they handled everything exchanged between universes, whether it was confidential or public: diplomatic issues, goods, criminals, civilians, and so on. There was authority in their name the same way there was one in the hands of the feeder to an animal, and thus I earned a natural respect from nearly everyone I came across.  
In such a position, I just gathered data and statistics across places that were not as monitored, whether the reason for that is because the area is more remote or is more dangerous than other places, which made me realize that I was someone that they definitely planned to replace if I was going to these crime ridden cities and towns in numerous countries. Thankfully, they never sent me anywhere so infested, but after my first year went by they legally licensed me to carry a firearm at all times. I feel fortunate that I never had to use it on anyone. It at least made people “respect” me more. I felt like a real policeman with it.  
But then the Department I worked for made an “unconditional alteration” to my position that essentially turned me into a more government worker on the side: every now and then, there was someone they told me to visit and consult about their lack of records or paperwork that proved their citizenship to their country or the validity of their identity. It was a common issue in many universes in which people go off the radar of both their country and the Departments, intentionally or not, which is always for multiple reasons. I always feared that the next person would be a fugitive who had been in hiding, but a lot of the time it was either someone who was escaping taxes or was a senior who didn’t even know what it meant to go off the radar.  
I was suspicious the analyst position was something that was only a way to prepare me as a detective for finding missing people, and I was proved right when they offered me a higher pay job of such. I was unsure at first, for I was still keen on continuing my search for Sarah and Vetrov, but I had made no progress towards that at all, so I thought I might as well continue my life as I did it and hopefully teach myself new things in the meantime.  
I was soon very glad I took the job. I felt shameful to admit it, but I was quite satisfied to have authority over others in any scenario, almost in some perverted sense that I had to have that entitlement to have confidence. When I realized this, I began to turn angry towards myself, loathing over my thoughts and teaching myself discipline to be content with myself rather than desire to be superior. I suppressed it over time, but it still granted me pleasure when I had the stronger word over others. I only worried if I would ever abuse it and treat others unfairly.  
Two decades of search and study on thousands of people showed me everything there was to see in people: lot of good will and wholesome intentions, but far more evil and sin. Another thing that struck me as odd, despite the procedure having existed for the last hundred years according to sources, is the amount of people who have had their faces reconstructed to find a new identity. For a few decades in the past, it was accessible by almost anyone in the public before it was strictly banned when too many people started going missing or untracked, and to this day there are hundreds of thousands of people who still have to be found.  
I find such procedure odd because it didn’t seem realistic to any extent when I was told about it, but I had the same reaction to the concept of multiple universes when Vetrov explained that to me. It was not entirely illogical and impossible, since it was obviously this reality I lived in, but it still did not make sense in my eyes. It was as if two plus two suddenly equaled five some day, and, even if every human in existence could prove it was true, I would still find it unreasonable. This feeling of non acceptance of so many different things- the surveillance power held by the Departments, the retina scanning of the eye in several devices, even the speed of cars and trains doesn’t seem right. A lot of technology was exotic or imaginary, like out of a book I read as a child, leaving me wide eyed in awe every time I found something new.  
As strange as it was, I thought that even if it was banned now, Sarah could have gone under a new identity with a new face herself with surgery, and my hope shriveled more, as it had been since I began my search. As things turned realistic for me and I realized how much there was to find in every universe, I started attaching all sorts of ideas as to why finding Sarah would be impossible, but I only thought of it as possibilities, not actual reasoning that should tell me to give up because I am doing this in vain. It was then I thought- Reeves, why are you being like this?  
And then I answer, Because I can, and I know she is out there. There is at least a trace for me to find. So I would continue on, finding… Well, nothing. I can see myself being a fool, yet I still continue doing this. It is a curse of not determination, not persistence… it is a curse of incurable desire!

One of the last encounters I made in my career was in a rundown town about seventy kilometers from the universe’s arrival location. I was always annoyed that there was no way to directly engineer one’s arrival to a specific location in a universe, and that it was instead all stuck to one area that was natural with the universe’s… structure? There are so many theories around it, I can’t say what it is, but it’s because of that fixed arrival that I would have to either drive or ride for constantly to wherever it was I was ordered to investigate.  
This was a different sort of investigation though, at least one that was quite rare. There was nobody in particular I was looking for, but instead it was me and three others who were just going to identify if the town was completely abandoned, since it was quite old anyways. The whole region was a desert in a deep valley, stuck in a drought that sucked the whole land dry. The buildings in the town itself was falling apart, all made of nothing but wood and the sweat and spit of the original builders.  
The town gave me a nostalgia for something I couldn’t put my finger on, and it was unwelcoming as the visions that arose in my dreams, for they caused nothing but unsatisfaction for this time I lived in. We split in the town and wandered around, taking our time in what we were all confident was abandoned completely. The sun overhead was burning us, and we all had agreed to hurry this up so we could leave soon. Really though, it was hard for me to take my time with these sort of things- I enjoyed looking through old things, always expecting to find something neat.  
At one end of the town was what looked like a saloon. Along the bar were some bottles that were surprisingly still standing along the wall, neatly organized and capped, though they were all empty and terribly dusty like everything else. I was spooked to explore, using a stick I picked up to clear the cobwebs as I walked up the stairs to the second floor. It was then that my body froze at the sound of strumming- somebody was playing a guitar soothingly, at least that is what it sounded like.  
I drew my pistol from my side and grasped it as I walked down the hallway above. There were only three doors to check, and I was certain the music was coming from the one furthest down. I opened the first two swiftly and aimed, though they were both devoid of anything worth examining. I came to the last one and saw it was slightly open, and a warm light was coming from the room. I opened it with my weapon in hand, and my eyes were momentarily blinded not by the light but by the purity of the room’s atmosphere.  
Candles were lit in various spots of the room, the wax leaking through the floorboards. In the center, a person sat with his back turned to me, a guitar in their hands that played a gentle tune with their fingers. They were dressed in a thick fur jacket, a hood covering their head. They slowly turned their head towards me, and showed they were a man, at least by the mouth and chin I could tell, for the rest of their face was masked by their hood.  
“Howdy,” he greeted, “What brings you here?”  
“‘Howdy’?” I said, “Awfully casual, aren’t you?”  
“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve met a person before, and you’re not interrupting anything. I have lived this moment a thousand times.”  
“Right, with a gun aimed at you, must be familiar,” I lowered the pistol and leaned against the wall, relaxing my expression, “I’m Michael Reeves from the Department of Civilian Trafficking-”  
“Michael Reeves, hello,” he interrupted, slowly standing up while using his guitar to support himself. I don’t know how he was wearing such a thick jacket in this heat, but he was calmer than anyone I had ever seen- naturally, I assumed he was on some sort of drug with the tone he spoke with and the restfulness of his eyes.  
“Mr. Reeves, it is swell to meet you,” he said, putting out his hand.  
“It’s swell?”  
“It is.” When I wouldn’t shake his hand, he pointed at my gun and asked, “Can I trust you to not use that against me?”  
“You’re asking for a lot here if you’re serious.”  
“Please, I’m harmless. I find that here is no need for violence in this world. Whatever matters we have between us, I am sure they can be resolved peacefully and end happily for both you and I.”  
I stared at him unsurely, and whatever expression I made must have been humorous to him, because he began to laugh and let the guitar fall to the floor.  
“I’m sorry, sorry,” he said, his voice gaining a dogged accent, “No, but really, howdy. I’m Nikolai. I live in Acrtonamd, not here, don’t worry.”  
“Actronamd, really? I was just there. Do you have an ID to show?”  
“Oh, it’s outside in my bag right by my bike. Right out back.”  
“Uh huh… Why are you here, exactly?”  
“Is there a rule for not being here?” He lowered his hood and shook his hair around. Where his left eye should be was instead a black eyepatch and it amused me to see that was what he was hiding under his hood.  
“That’s more of a question of concern,” I said.  
“Well, it’s nice here, wouldn’t you say?- No people, no animals. But, no death either. Just me, myself and I… Anyways, what’s wrong?”  
“Nothing is now, but until you show a valid identification I can’t let you go.”  
“What? You can’t just do that. Can you? I don’t know, I never really paid attention to the Departments.”  
“I have reasons to believe you are a missing person in the Departments’ definition-”  
“Okay, okay, just let me go get it then, ugh,” he picked up his guitar and snuffed out all the candles. The melted wax of the candles looked to have been hardened, making it seem he had come here numerous times.  
I walked out with him, and one of the other detectives saw me and blew a whistle to alert the other two.  
“Don’t freak out, he’s friendly,” I called out, “So far, at least. Get the car ready, this place is dead.”  
“Aw, don’t say that,” said Nikolai, “It’s nice here. You guys aren’t gonna take it down then, are you?”  
“Come on, where’s your bike?”  
“Over here, over here.” He led me to his bike, which only then it came to me how ridiculous it was that this was here.  
“You rode here on a bike? From the arrival spot?” I asked.  
“Yeah.”  
“It’s seventy kilometers from here… And the tires on this are flat!”  
“They weren’t flat when I came here two weeks ago.”  
I traded an amazed look with him and said, “God, just- where is it?”  
“Stop rushing me!” He handed me his wallet with an irritated motion.  
“Ah…” I gave it back, “It’s legit. Well, I’m sorry to bother you then.”  
“You’re not taking this town down to the ground, are you?”  
“We aren’t, no. Not as if anything will ever get built out here. Well, you enjoy the rest of your day here, sir.”  
“Wait, wait,” he said, walking along with me with his bike, “You have to drive the car back to the arrival, right? Could you give me a lift?”  
“I’m quite sure we’re not allowed to do that unless we’re taking you into custody,” I said.  
“Oh, come on, you’re going to make me walk back seventy kilometers?!”  
“Well, what did you plan to do when you realized your tire was flat?”  
“Probably die out here in the sand.”  
He followed me in an unsteady walk around the building. The car was pulled up by us, and the driver came out with his transporter in hand and said, “You have to drive this one out, Michael. The Department wants me back now.”  
“What about Tom or Fredrick, why can’t they drive?”  
“‘Cause, they already left. See ya,” he pressed on his transporter and disappeared with a static blink. I sighed in frustration and cursed to myself, taking myself to the driver side and climbing in.  
Nikolai hurried over and said, “Hey, wait, man! Don’t do this to me, come on! I’ve no water left to drink, I’ll die out here! Forget the Departments, just do the right thing! How would they ever know?”  
“It’s just-” I looked over and rolled my eyes at him, “Fine, toss your junk in the back and get in.”  
He smiled brightly and did so in a rush, jumping into his seat up front like a child. It was then that I realized he smelled of cannabis, and I opened the windows a crack before driving off.


End file.
